May I Have This Dance?
by Susan M. M
Summary: Chapter 5, Mrs. Standish AU:  The last time Ezra attended a dance, he wound up the guest of honor at a shotgun wedding.  Is it any wonder that he doesn't want to go to this dance?   Ezra/Mary Sue
1. Chapter 1

**May I Have This Dance?**

**Standard fanfic disclaimer** that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: these aren't my characters. I'm just borrowing them for, um, typing practice. Yeah, that's it, typing practice. Originally published in the fanzine Let's Ride #9, from Neon RainBow Press. **Warning: **This is Chapter 5 of the Mrs. Standish AU. It's AU, it's Mary Sue, and it's part of a continuing series. If any of those things bother you, I shall not be insulted if you chose a different story to read.

_**May I Have This Dance?**_

by Susan M. M.

_Magnificent Seven_

Chapter 5 of the Mrs. Standish AU

_Could I have this dance for the rest of my life?_

_Would you be my partner every night?_

_When we're together, it feels so right._

_Could I have this dance for the rest of my life?_

– Wayland Holyfield & Bob House

**Late May to early June, 1878**

Marina Standish set a plate of omelettes on the table before her husband. "Would you think it terribly extravagant of me to purchase a new dress for the dance, Mr. Standish?"

She sat down across the table from him, but did not eat. She'd had her breakfast two hours ago, before milking the cow, feeding the livestock, and gathering the eggs.

"Totally unnecessary, Mrs. Standish. Since we are not going to the dance, the need does not arise." Ezra Standish sipped his coffee appreciatively. Marina, for all her faults, did brew an excellent cup of coffee. "The point is therefore moot."

The redhead tried to keep the disappointment she felt from showing on her face. "Why not?"

"I do not choose to attend. That is sufficient reason. And my wife does not attend social functions at which I am not present, other than quilting bees and feminine gatherings of that nature." The gambler drained his cup and held it out to his wife. "May I trouble you for more coffee, Mrs. Standish?"

"Of course, sir." She got up to fetch the coffeepot. As she poured, she tried to think of a way to change his mind that he wouldn't recognize as manipulation.

**oOo**

"Inez, you sure do look purty this morning," Buck told her.

"You are only saying that because I am feeding you," the Mexican woman retorted. She set a plate of flapjacks on the table in front of him.

"No, ma'am," he denied. "You're like the first star, glistening in the sky in the evening, or a wildflower, growing in the woods."

"If you want more pancakes, try paying for them," Inez Rocillos suggested tartly. "Vin, you have everything you need?"

The bounty hunter finished chewing. "Yes,ma'am."

"Inez, there's a dance comin' up soon," Buck mentioned, trying to gain the woman's attention once more.

"I know."

"I'd be the luckiest man in town if you permitted me to escort you."

"Maybe Ezra, he doesn't give me that night off?" she countered.

"I'll make sure he does," Buck promised.

"Oh? What will you do, lose to him at cards again?" She stood there mockingly, her hands on her hips, her dark eyes flashing, her eyebrows raised.

Vin chuckled.

"I'll talk to Miz Standish," Buck said, ignoring his friend's laughter. "I know she's plannin' to go. I saw her starin' at a pretty dresses in the window of Mrs. Reid's shop."

JD walked into the saloon. He waved at Inez and smiled when she looked at him. "_Buenos días_, Inez," he said, mispronouncing the words. "Got any flapjacks left?"

"_Sí_." She smiled at his attempt to speak Spanish. "I will go get them."

Larabee and most of his peacekeepers bought half their meals in the Queen of Diamonds. Not so much because they wanted to subsidize Ezra, as the fact that few of them could cook without giving themselves food poisoning. The food was better in the restaurant, but more expensive there. And while the Lazy Hawk Saloon also had food, its menu was limited to sandwiches and chili, neither of high quality.

"Bet you he's too chicken to ask Casey to the dance," Buck whispered.

Vin's pale blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "How much?"

"A dollar."

"Deal," agreed the long-haired bounty hunter.

Ezra strode into the Queen of Diamonds, greeting everyone politely.

"You're up early, Ez. Ain't noon yet," Buck joked.

Ezra merely forced a smile, not considering the jest worthy of a reply.

"Need to talk to you a minute, Ezra." Buck walked over to the gambler. "I asked Inez to the dance, but she wasn't sure she could get the night off. You ain't planning to make her work that night, are you?"

"Business will likely be slow that night. I suppose I could handle things by myself that evening. Unless, of course, the lovely _señorita _merely wants a polite excuse to turn you down and would prefer I kept her on duty."

"You ain't going to the dance?"

"I have no intention of attending, no."

"Why not?" The dark-haired cowboy knew Ezra enjoyed dancing, and was good at it. And he knew Marina Standish wanted to go.

"Look what happened the last time I attended such a gathering."

The last time Ezra had attended a dance, back in March, he had helped up a young lady who had stumbled. Her cousins, misinterpreting his assistance, decided that he was trifling with the girl, and had forced him into holy wedlock, three guns trained on him until the pastor reached "You may kiss the bride." Judge Travis had refused to annul the marriage, or grant a divorce, much to Ezra's dismay and Marina's delight.

"Hell, ain't likely to happen again – can't happen – you're already married." Buck was amused at Ezra's reaction.

"Nonetheless, I see no reason to take unnecessary chances."

**oOo**

"What do you think you're doing?" Nathan Jackson demanded.

Startled, the dark-haired gambler glanced up to see the healer standing over him. For once, the innocent look in his green eyes was genuine. "Playing solitaire."

"With my father," Nathan specified.

"I'm not playing cards with Obadiah," Ezra said.

"What's he doin', workin' at your house? He's an old man, and he's sick," Nathan reminded him. "What's the matter, your house doesn't feel like a home unless you've got a darky working there?"

Ezra's nostrils flared. "I resent your insinuation, Mr. Jackson. I didn't hire him, and I did not authorize Mrs. Standish to engage any domestic servants. Perhaps I should have a word with her."

"Maybe we both should." Nathan stepped back, making room for Ezra to get up.

Sighing, Ezra complied. "Inez, keep an eye on things. I'll be back presently."

She nodded and continued wiping down the bar.

**oOo**

A few minutes' walk brought them to Ezra's house. Obadiah Jackson was on his knees, working in the garden.

"Morning, suh. Hey there, son," the ex-slave greeted them both. "You be careful of your fine clothes, suh, just finished manuring the mint."

Ezra wrinkled his nose, smelling the truth of what Obadiah said. "Is my wife inside?"

"Yes, suh."

Ezra and Nathan went in. They found Marina sweeping the parlor.

"Surprised you don't have Daddy doing that, too," Nathan muttered.

"Mrs. Standish, why is Obadiah in our front yard?" Ezra demanded.

"He's helping me with the garden," Marina said matter-of-factly.

Nathan stepped forward. "Miz Standish, my daddy's a sick man. He shouldn't be working."

"I know, but you try telling him that." The redhead leaned the broom against the wall. Nathan just looked at her, so she continued. "He's too proud to accept charity, so I've been trading him chores for home-cooked meals and a little pocket money … when I can get him to accept the money."

"How much money?" Ezra inquired.

"It came from my butter-and-egg money, so you don't worry about it." By tradition, the money that came from selling excess milk, butter, and eggs were the wife's funds to do with as she pleased. "Don't fret, Mr. Jackson. I try to keep him from doing too much."

"What sort of chores?" Nathan asked her suspiciously.

"Gardening, mostly. Sometimes he helps me carry the laundry out to the line, or mucks out Daisy's stall."

"You mustn't let him work too hard, Miz Standish. He ain't got much strength. He … he's dyin'."

The woman nodded and smiled, looking up at him sympathetically, her hazel eyes a little bright. "I know. I figure the least I can do is let him die with dignity. If his pride won't let him take charity, then I'll let him earn what I would've given him anyway. 'The laborer is worthy of his hire,'"she quoted. She turned to her husband. "I can't see that it's any different from the deal I made with Mr. Tanner, trading home cooked meals for fresh game."

"I owe you an apology, Ezra. You and Miz Standish both," Nathan admitted.

"It's not the first time," Ezra said, remembering Li Pong.

"What Mr. Standish means is that it's fine. Think nothing of it," Marina corrected her husband gently.

"I didn't say that," Ezra retorted. "And you might have mentioned to me that you were employing Obadiah."

"I didn't think you were interested in domestic details, sir. Besides, it's not as if I need my butter-and-egg money for a new dress," she complained, "since we're not going to the dance."

Nathan decided he didn't want to get caught in the middle of a marital spat. "Sorry, Ezra. 'Scuse me, Miz Standish." He made a quick retreat, wondering as he left when Ezra and Marina were going to make it to a first-name basis. They had been married two months now.

**oOo**

"Hello, Mr. Larabee."

"Hello, Billy," the gunslinger greeted Mary Travis' son. He was fond of the boy, and having saved his life twice, he felt responsible for the lad.

"My mama's going to that dance that's coming up," Billy announced.

"I'm not surprised. Your mama's a pretty lady. I'll bet half the men in town would like to dance with her," Chris said, giving the boy a half-smile.

"If Mama goes by herself, she's gonna talk girl-stuff with the other ladies between dances. That's gonna be boring. But if you asked her to the dance, we could talk man-stuff between the dances," Billy hinted, he fixing the gunfighter with a pleading stare.

"Quilting bees and clothes and such-like?" Larabee asked in amusement.

Billy nodded his blond head.

"Sounds like you need rescuing. Maybe I should ask her if she'd come with me… just to save you from quilting bees and clothes," Larabee agreed.

"Thanks, Chris. I sure do 'preciate it."

**oOo**

Vin took a deep breath and stepped into the office of the _Clarion_. He picked up a newspaper and slowly read the headlines. "Pres-ee-dent Hayes gives speech on ed-yuc-at-ee-on." He looked up, puzzlement at the strange word showing in his pale blue eyes.

"Education," Mary Travis, the pretty blonde editor, corrected.

He continued to sound out the next line. "Where knowledge spreads, wealth spreads, and t' diffuse knowledge in the world is t' diffuse wealth in the world."******

Mary smiled at him. "Very good, Vin."

"I cain't say thank y' enough, Mary. Y' took me from not knowin' A from B t' readin' almost anythin' I want to. Even writin' down m' own poems," he said shyly, fidgeting slightly.

"It was my pleasure, Vin."

"I was wonderin' if I could escort y' t' the dance, maybe buy y' a fancy dinner at the restaurant b'forehand," he asked nervously.

"Oh, Vin, that's so sweet of you, but I already agreed to let Chris escort me," she said.

"Oh."

"I'll be happy to save you a dance, though."

"That'd be right kind of y', Mary." He managed to keep his tone level, but his pale blue eyes betrayed his disappointment.

**oOo**

****** From a speech by Rutherford B. Hayes, given May 15, 1878.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mr. Standish, you're not Catholic, are you?"

The gambler didn't look up from his dinner. "Baptist, on the rare occasions I attend divine services. Why do you ask?"

"When I was going over the books for the saloon, I noticed that you send twenty dollars to _Nuestra Señora de Dolores_ every month. I was just wondering why," Marina confessed.

"What were you doing, going through my books?"

"Checking your figures. Everything's in order," she assured him. "But you should change breweries. You can get your beer at a better price."

"And just what do you know about running a saloon, madam?"

She winced at the "madam." "I used to keep the books for Gram."

A dark eyebrow rose over a beryl-green eye. "And bookkeeping for a ranch teaches you saloon management?" he asked her sarcastically.

"Gram owned, or was part-owner, of six saloons, in four different towns. She audited the books once a month, which meant I did the work and she listened to my reports." Marina cut herself another piece of beef. "Why are you donating over two hundred dollars a year to a mission?"

Ezra hesitated a moment, trying to decide how best to reply. Hannah Sanchez, Josiah's sister, was a lunatic; the nuns at the mission cared for her. "It's a debt," the gambler said simply, declining to give any details.

"Well, the saloon is doing quite well, even with such generous payments on your debt. In fact, the saloon is doing well enough that you could afford to close one night. You aren't likely to have any customers the night of the dance anyway," she pointed out.

"I am not taking you to the dance. It is futile for you to waste your breath in redundancies. Be good enough to drop the subject, Mrs. Standish."

"Yes, Mr. Standish," she said meekly.

"And, in the future, I'll thank you to leave the running of my business to me," he informed her tartly.

"Yes, Mr. Standish."

**oOo**

"Hey there, Ezra." Buck sat down next to the gambler. Without a word, Josiah took a seat on his other side.

"Mr. Wilmington, Mr. Sanchez," Ezra greeted them. His voice was cordial enough, but he eyed them suspiciously.

"You said you did a turn preaching the Word," Josiah began.

Buck raised a dark eyebrow. "Ezra was a preacher?"

Josiah shook his head. "He was only after the collection plate." He looked Ezra in the eye. "When you weren't robbing the collection plate, did you ever bother to read St. Paul?"

"Of course I've read Paul." Ezra frowned. It was rude of Josiah to bring up his time as an itinerant preacher, especially to mention the motives behind his vocation at the time. He wasn't the man now he'd been then, and Josiah knew it. "Ananias is in Acts. St. Luke, not St. Paul."

Taking mercy on the puzzled look on Buck's face, Josiah explained quietly, "Ananias was a thief, stole from the church – died of it." Turning to the retired con man, he said, "Came to discuss your current foibles, not your past ones. You familiar with the Letter to the Colossians? Chapter three, Verse nineteen: 'Husbands, love your wives and be not bitter against them.' Or First Corinthians, Chapter seven, Verse three: 'Let the husband render unto the wife due benevolence.'"

"Actually, I'm better acquainted with First Timothy, five: twenty-three: 'Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's sake,'" Ezra retorted.

Josiah grinned. "Gotta admit, that's always been one of my favorite verses, although I've been known to omit the 'little' part."

"You two gonna trade quotations all night, or are we gonna get down to business?" Buck demanded.

"And just what is your business?" Ezra demanded coldly.

"Your wife," Josiah replied.

"What happens between Mrs. Standish and me is private."

"She wants to go to the dance. You ought to take her," Josiah told him.

"I prefer not to attend the dance." He began laying out a hand of solitaire.

"You're overlooking the important part, Ez. There ain't enough women to go around," Buck complained. "If you don't come, she can't come. If she don't come, there ain't enough ladies there."

"I thought you were escorting _Señorita_ Recillos?"

"Gal as pretty as Inez, she ain't gonna sit out a single dance. I need someone to dance with when she's dancing with the other fellers."

"And I ain't got anyone to take… unless I ask Miss Nettie." Josiah looked thoughtful for a moment, as though he were considering asking the white-haired widow. "The Good Book says you need to do right by your wife. And your friends say it ain't fair to deprive them of the chance with the best cook in the county." Josiah leaned across the table. "Take Miz Standish to the dance."

"I gave both of you the opportunity to win her away from me. You should have taken me up on the offer at the time." Ezra turned his attention to his cards.

**oOo**

Ezra woke to the sound of voices. For a moment, he thought he was still asleep and dreaming. Why should he hear two voices – one of them clearly masculine – in his home at this hour of the morning? He climbed reluctantly out of bed, garbed himself swiftly, and went to investigate.

One eyebrow rose at the sight of the brown-haired bounty hunter sitting at _his_ kitchen table, eating _his_ breakfast. "Vin?" he inquired, too startled to exercise his usual formality. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

"Hey, Ez." Vin's blue eyes twinkled. "Some of us been up 'n' 'round fer hours."

Marina held up the coffee pot. Ezra nodded, and she poured him a cup. She added cream and sugar and stirred it before handing it to him.

Ezra sat down. After taking a sip, he asked, "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Mr. Tanner?"

"Shot a pronghorn yest'rday, just tradin' some meat with yer missus."

"Mr. Tanner will be joining us for dinner later this week," Marina informed her husband.

Ezra tried not to frown. Ever since he had been forced into the state of holy wedlock, his six colleagues had developed the habit of inviting themselves to dinner. Chris and Josiah were polite to Marina, but blunt with Ezra. They came on Judge Travis' behalf, to ensure he was neither mistreating nor neglecting his unwanted bride. The others merely wished to sponge off him for a free meal. Vin, at least, made it a matter of barter – fish or game he had caught in exchange for a home-cooked meal. Ezra didn't object to occasional guests, but there was a limit to southern hospitality, especially since the others, being bachelors, never reciprocated.

"Why is it, Mr. Tanner," Ezra inquired, "that when you come for dinner, you never come on the nights Mrs. Standish prepares your bounty?"

"Don't want nuthin' I c'n make m'self. If 'm gettin' a woman-cooked meal, want somethin' I cain't do over a campfire."

"Which is why he's trading venison for chicken and dumplings," Marina explained. "Difficult to do dumplings properly over a campfire. What you need, Vin Tanner, is a wife of your own to tend to you."

"Found the perfect one. Trouble is, someone else found her first."

Marina had turned back to the cast-iron stove. She didn't see the haunted look in Vin's pale blue eyes, and he had enough self-control to keep his voice light and neutral. "Don't you go flirting with me in front of my husband; he might get jealous."

Ezra knew his friend's words didn't apply to his wife. "Charlotte Richmond?" he whispered, almost silently.

Vin nodded and gave his attention to his coffee and flapjacks, not looking up until he trusted his self-control. "Yer a lucky man, Ez. Married yerself a right good cook."

"Every cloud has a silver lining," Ezra muttered.

"May I get you more?" Marina asked Vin.

"So long as I ain't takin' Ezra's breakfast out 'a his mouth."

"Mr. Standish isn't ready for breakfast until most people are thinking about lunch," she replied. "And I'll not let one of my husband's friends go hungry in my kitchen."

"Just one or two more," Vin agreed. "Got a long ride ahead 'a me today. Headin' out to Nettie Wells' place; gonna give her a haunch of venison, too."

"Why is it that the Widow Wells rates the meat as a gift, whereas we trade for it?" Ezra inquired dryly.

"A widder-woman needs someone t' look out fer her," Vin replied. "Miz Standish got you."

"And six brothers-in-law," Marina said and chuckled.

**oOo**

"Hey, JD, y' busy?" Vin asked.

"Not especially," the young sheriff replied. "What do you need?"

"I was gonna ride out t' Miss Nettie's place. Y' wanna come with?"

JD hesitated a long moment before agreeing.

"C'mon, let's get some supplies t' take out to Miss Nettie… and Casey," Vin added slyly.

**oOo**


	3. Chapter 3

JD and Vin rode up to Nettie Wells' shanty. Casey was in the yard, tossing grain to the chickens. She waved when she saw them.

"Aunt Nettie! We got company," the girl yelled.

Nettie Wells, a scrawny, white-haired old biddy, came out onto the porch. She wiped her hands on her apron.

JD and Vin reined their horses to a stop in front of the house. Vin touched his hat to Nettie and Casey. JD did likewise.

"Brought y' a haunch of venison," Vin announced. "Fetched y' a few supplies from town, too."

"Don't need charity," Nettie declared.

"Not charity," Vin replied. "Just being neighborly."

The old woman relaxed a little. "Well, nothing wrong with being neighborly, I reckon."

Vin dismounted and gathered up the supplies. "Let me fetch this in fer ya."

As Vin followed Nettie into the house, JD dismounted and walked over to Casey. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself," the petite brunette replied. She was dressed in boy's clothes and her hair was uncombed.

"How you been?" JD asked her.

"All right," Casey said.

Neither said anything for a moment. They looked at each other, then both looked away, Casey examining her boots, JD finding the horizon horribly fascinating all of a sudden.

"Anything happening in town?" Casey asked him.

"Ezra's in-laws– You heard he got married, didn't you? They came to town last month and shot up his saloon. We ran 'em out of town." JD scuffed his boot on the ground. "Everybody's all excited about the dance that's coming up soon."

"Heard there was gonna be a dance," Casey remarked.

JD hemmed and hawed for a minute.

"Wanna go to the dance with me?" Casey blurted out.

JD blushed, flustered that she hadn't waited for him to get the question out. After a moment, he asked her, "You gonna wear a dress, or trousers?"

"Reckon I could wear a dress," Casey allowed. She frowned, remembering what had happened when Buck had talked her into wearing feminine garb to attract JD's attention. She had tripped on her skirt and pulled it off, letting half the town see her in her underthings.

"Then I reckon we could go to the dance together," JD agreed. Remembering the society manners of his mother's employers in Boston, he added, "I'd be right pleased to escort you."

Vin stood on the porch and bit his lip. He wondered how this would affect his bet with Buck.

**oOo**

"Beautiful weather today," Marina observed.

Ezra nodded, his mind more on his luncheon than the weather.

"Should be lovely tomorrow, too. Do you suppose we could rent a horse, sir?" she asked.

"What on Earth for? I own a perfectly good horse." Ezra looked up from his venison soufflé in confusion and looked at his wife.

"I thought we could go for a picnic after church," she suggested. "We could rent a horse for me, ride out of town a little bit, find a nice place for a picnic lunch."

"Since we are already married, ma'am, engaging in courtship rituals would hardly seem necessary," Ezra pointed out.

Marina blushed. "I was thinking of your health, Mr. Standish. All those late hours in the saloon – cigar smoke and alcohol fumes. Some fresh air would do you good."

"The only benefit I have derived from this marriage is your culinary expertise. I see no reason to sit on hard, rocky ground and compete with the ants for my luncheon, when I could dine in the comfort of my own home." He wondered, not for the first time, how it was that such a slender woman was such a good cook. "Don't you try to nag me into it, either."

Marina glanced through the open doorway from the kitchen to the parlor. She could just see the corner of a framed motto, neatly embroidered onto a potato sack background: a quotation from St. Paul on wifely obedience. "I wouldn't dream of it, sir," she lied.

**oOo**

"Lord, let us in our homes agree–"

Marina's fingers continued to dance over the keys, but she looked up as she heard a familiar voice join in on the last verse of "Happy the Home When God is There." _It couldn't be,_ she thought. Nonetheless, her heart leapt.

"This blessed peace to gain; unite our hearts in/Love to Thee, and love to all will reign. Amen."

There was no doubt. That deep, rich baritone could only belong to one man. Standing in the back of the church, a hymnal in his hand, was Ezra.

Marina didn't hear Josiah's benediction, didn't pay attention as the congregation filed out of the church. Her eyes were on the dark-haired gambler in the last pew.

Josiah headed for the back of the church, glancing pointedly at the roof as he walked toward his friend. "You came, and the roof didn't fall in."

Ezra looked up, smiling wryly.

"You're welcome any time, y'know."

Ezra shook his head. "I just came to fetch my wife." She hurried down the aisle to join him.

"Thank you for playing the piano, Sister Standish," Josiah said as he did every week.

Marina didn't even bother to say "you're welcome" as Ezra led her outside. Two horses were saddled and waiting in front of the church.

"I found a rather large luncheon in the kitchen, already prepared, so I took the liberty of packing the picnic," he told her. He helped her mount the rented mare. "Shall we go?"

"Yes, Mr. Standish." She tried very hard not to grin like an idiot.

**oOo**

"It would be futile to attempt to turn this _al fresco _meal into a romantic assignation. Ours is a marriage of convenience, nothing more." Ezra reached for a drumstick. "It was convenient for me to avoid your cousin shooting me."

"Between the saloon and helping Mr. Larabee, you work hard, Mr. Standish, harder than most people realize. I just want you to relax a little."

A dark eyebrow rose. Most people didn't consider playing poker or running a saloon "work." Marina was one of the few people in Four Corners who didn't think his life was all "cakes and ale." Quite possibly, she was the only one who cared about his well-being. Perhaps he should take it a little easier on her, especially since Judge Travis had threatened him with a few days in jail for contempt of court if he pestered him about a divorce again.

"I'm your wife. It's my job to take care of you. My job and my pleasure," she told him. "I know I'm not the bride you would've chosen, if you'd had a choice, but I'm your wife nonetheless." Marina sighed. She murmured, "You didn't even choose me for a dance the night we met."

Ezra bit his lip. He hadn't even noticed her at the dance that night. He changed the subject. "Obadiah said something about mint in the garden?"

"I wanted to surprise you with mint for mint juleps."

He smiled. "Thoughtful of you, Mrs. Standish. I shall look forward to harvesting the mint."

"It'll take a while to grow," she warned. _Maybe by the time it's ready to pick, you'll call me Marina again,_ she thought. "More chicken, Mr. Standish?"

"You do a superb job at fried chicken… for a Yankee," he teased.

"I assure you, sir, most people in Chicago do not consider themselves Yankees. We're Midwesterners; Yankees live on the Atlantic coast."

He reached for the platter of cherry tarts. She passed it to him. He glanced down at her hands as she held the platter – the hands of a woman twice her age. His mother prized her delicate white hands, but his mother made sure to never handle anything heavier than a deck of cards. His wife's hands were prematurely aged from scrubbing floors, washing dishes, washing laundry, milking, cooking: hands that were worn out first from slaving for the Henshaws, then from waiting on him hand and foot.

Not for the first time, Ezra pondered the paradox that was his wife. He'd once accused her of being able to "out-stubborn three mules." When it was something she wanted, she quite happily ignored his wishes, even his orders. Yet in domestic matters, she swept, mopped, washed, cooked, willing, even eager to serve him. He wondered how bad life had been for her amongst the Henshaws that waiting on him hand and foot was such an improvement. And she could switch from speaking to him with the respectful deference an obedient wife owed her husband to a sharp, shrewish tongue.

Yet she learned after only a few days of marriage not to nag him about breakfast until he'd had time to thoroughly awaken. She brewed his coffee just the way he liked it. She washed and ironed his clothes, never leaving a scorch mark on his shirts or a wrinkle in his jackets. His boots she polished until he could see his reflection in them. She never complained that his wardrobe was larger and more expensive than hers. And what did he provide her in return? The protection of his name. A roof over her head. Food on the table. Ezra frowned.

"'It is better to dwell in the wilderness than with a contentious and an angry woman,'" he quoted softly, talking more to himself than her. He asked, "Do you still want to go to that dance?"

She looked up, her hazel eyes shining. She took a moment to rein in her enthusiasm and replied meekly, "Only if you want to go, sir."

"Make sure you don't beggar me buying that new dress," he admonished her gruffly. "It doesn't need to be Chinese silk or Belgian lace."

"Oh, no, Mr. Standish, cotton will be fine. I'll save the silk for you."

He looked up at her sharply, unsure whether or not she was twitting him about his clothes-horsery. She smiled at him ingenuously.


	4. Chapter 4

Ezra frowned at Marina. Or rather, he looked down at her hand, which was clutching his arm, and frowned at it. His wife wore a pink gingham dress with white cotton eyelet trim. Knowing most of the men-folk present would be wearing black or brown, Ezra had deliberately chosen to wear his best red coat. He stood out from the others, a cardinal amongst crows and sparrows.

Perhaps, however, he should've encouraged Marina to purchase a gown more befitting her position as his wife. Comparing his broadcloth coat with her cotton dress, he could not help being reminded of King Cophetua and the beggar-maid.

Ezra looked around. He saw Inez Recillos in a red satin gown. They would've looked magnificent together, and the gambler envied Buck his place as her escort. He saw Mary Travis with Chris. The journalist wore her best silk gown – the lavender of half-mourning, trimmed with lace – and glanced again at Marina's pink gingham with cotton eyelet trim. Marina suffered by comparison: plain, skinny, carrot-haired. There was no way she could compete with either the exotic _Señorita_ Recillos or the lovely Mrs. Travis. Not in dress, not in looks, and certainly not in his erotic daydreams.

Marina seemed blithely unaware of his disdain. "The music is quite gay, isn't it?"

Ezra turned his head to the musicians. Elisha Ward had his fiddle. One of Small's ranch hands – Ezra didn't know his name – had a guitar, and Zeke Carlin had a battered old fife, left over from his army days.

"Ladies and gentlemen, take yer partners fer the Virginia Reel," Ward called out loudly.

Marina looked up at her husband expectantly.

Ezra sighed. "Might as well get this over with," he muttered under his breath. He forced an insincere smile to his lips as he took her hand, but the smile did not reach his green eyes. If he hid his feelings as poorly playing cards as he did dancing with his wife, he would've been forced to abandon his career as a gambler and seek out honest work years ago.

**oOo**

"Miz Standish, I don't mean to complain, but it ain't good manners to ignore your partner and keep paying attention to the feller you'd rather be dancing with," Buck chided her gently.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wilmington," she said contritely.

"Give him time, ma'am. Ezra may be hardheaded, but he's not stupid. He'll eventually realize what he has, and how lucky he is," Buck told her.

"It's sweet of you to say so, Mr. Wilmington," but her tone made it clear she didn't believe him.

"I told you, ma'am, my name's Buck," he reminded her.

**oOo**

"I don't see Nathan," Marina mentioned. "Where is he?"

"He don't come to the dances, ma'am. Some folks don't like him dancing with white women. Though they seem to forget the color of his skin when they need poulticing or patching up," Josiah added, not quite keeping the bitterness out of his voice. "He rode up to the Seminole village."

Marina frowned. She meant to save one dance for each of her "brothers-in-law." She glanced over at Ezra, who was dancing with Inez.

Josiah saw where she was looking. "Don't let him break your heart."

"I'm quite heart-whole," she lied.

**oOo**

Mary Travis glanced over at Marina Standish, who was dancing with JD, and stepping on his feet because she kept craning her neck to watch Ezra instead of what she was doing. "I feel so sorry for that woman."

"I'd feel sorry for JD, if I were you. He's the one getting his feet trampled," Chris replied, amused, as he whirled her around the room.

"Marina would stand on her head for a kind word from her husband, and he won't so much as give her the time of day," Mary said.

"Maybe she should've agreed to the annulment when the judge gave her the chance." Larabee waltzed gracefully with Mary, more interested in his partner than in the Standishes' marital problems.

"I still don't understand why Orin wouldn't give them an annulment when Ezra asked. I don't know much about the law, but under the circumstances I'd think they had grounds."

Larabee chuckled. "You're the reason."

"Me?"

"The judge didn't want Ezra as his grandson's stepfather. If Ezra's married to her, then he can't marry you."

Mary was so startled she missed her step in the dance. "He was afraid Ezra would propose to me?"

"There's not a man here wouldn't happily shoot me just for dancing with you. You're the prettiest woman in the territory, and every man with two good eyes knows it. And Ezra, he's got eyes like an eagle. Judge Travis was just trying to protect you," Larabee explained. He didn't bother to mention that his vision was also excellent.

Mary fell silent, mulling over Chris's theory. After a moment, she repeated, "I still feel sorry for her. You had Sarah, I had Steven. They don't even have each other."

Larabee thought a moment. "I have an idea." He whispered it in her ear, and Mary smiled.

**oOo**

Marina Standish danced with all of Larabee's men, and Bert Watson, and Yosemite. When the fiddler started playing a waltz again, Chris claimed her as a partner. The music started and he whirled her around the room.

Not too far away, Mary bobbed a curtsy to Ezra, and let the gambler take her in his arms.

"Be ready," Larabee whispered, steering them over by Ezra and Mary.

"Ready? Ready for what?" Marina asked him.

Chris just smiled, his hazel-green eyes twinkling mischievously.

Marina sighed when she saw they were next to her husband. Suddenly Larabee nodded at Mary. The journalist smiled back at him. Larabee released Marina, and gently shoved her toward Ezra. He took Mary in his arms. Marina didn't _quite _throw herself at her husband, but before the southerner knew what was happening, he found himself dancing with his wife.

Larabee grinned at the Standishes. Ezra was too much of a gentleman to abandon a lady in the middle of the dance floor, but the dismay was plain on his handsome visage. Marina had a satisfied smile on her face.

Mary whispered, "She looks like a cat who found cream in her dish instead of milk."

"Uh-huh," Larabee agreed. "And Ezra looks like a cat who found the milk in his bowl has curdled."

**oOo**

**oOoOo**

**oOoOoOo**

_To be continued in "For Better or for Worse"…_


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